Haze
by tahr
Summary: drabble. during a hunt. 2nd POV. some coarse language. somewhat continued
1. Haze

Haze 

Disclaimer - i lay no claim on anything.  
notage - i have no idea where this came from. i just like hazy minds and illconceived thoughts. theres a few mistakes in the whole grammar and structure of sentences. but then again, its thoughts. people dont think in perfect sentences.

Hes gasping for air by the time you get his side. and theres blood. and you're not sure how much of it is his, how much of it is yours, or even how much of it is that other things. and it all seems so fucking stupid because you cant find a wound with all the fucking blood everywhere. and its making your hands slip, even as hes reaching for his gun and trying to eject the spent magazine, you're searching his torso for the blood source. his sticking his elbow in your way, pushing you back, and you're pretty sure hes trying to tell you something, his mouth working without sound, your eyes telling you hes speaking, not hearing anything but the roar of blood in your ears.

hes got his hands in your jacket pockets _gotta fucking clip sammy_ and you realise hes looking for ammo, a magazine, anything he could possibly load into the gun in his hand.

hes shouting, you decide, hoarse words seem to be floating around your head and you still cant work out what they all mean. but dammit they must mean something because he frowns when you dont answer, and taps a blood stained hand onto your cheek, _goddamnit sammy, focus_ trying to pull you out of whatever trance you seem to have fallen into. your cheek feels all sticky and for some reason the idea of blood on your face is revolting you. and you can feel it slowly sliding down your cheek bones and dripping from your jaw. maybe you'll throw up but you can't really recollect where you are and whats happening.

and hes not leaning against the wall , crouched on the floor anymore, hes got a strong hand on the collar of your jacket, pulling you up and steadying you, even though you tower over him, and hes finally gotten ammunition in his gun.

you make a half hearted attempt at shrugging off his hand, fumbling for your own weapon. a gun or a knife or something. he steadys you again as you sway, and you manage to get the gun, from the waistband of your pants, out. armed again, you swallow hard because you still cant hear anything he's saying, even though youre sure he hasnt stopped talking since you got to him, and he looks fucking worried, and it doesnt suit him, and you just want him to cockily grin at you and make a stupid joke about how the blood stained look is so goddamned _in_ this year.  
but hes looking at you and down the corridor that youve both just been thrown down and looking every-goddamned-which-way because he doesnt know where the hell the thing is, because hes worried about you, because you havent answered him. Because theres still so much blood.

you try and make your mouth say _im fine_ to him so he'll stop looking at you like that, but you still cant find your voice and youre not sure either of you will believe it, even if you can get the words out. something moves to the left and he lets off a shot before you can lift your arm in the right direction.

but the fucking gun is slipping from your bloody grasp and you cant even get a better grip on it and he looks at you with those worried eyes as the gun clatters to the ground

_this is fucking retarded_ you say, not realizing that its out aloud, but you can hear it and cant believe that your voice sounds so choked, so fucking _broken_.

he's laying a steadying hand on your shoulder taking his eyes off the corridors and looking into your blurry eyes.

hes saying your name you realise. his fucking worried face in your face, his arms sliding under yours, keeping you from crumbling to the ground as your knees buckle _no more burgers for you, you lanky bastard_ and hes managed to slow your fall so you just lower gently onto the floor and hes leaning you against the wall, that same hand wiping at the blood on your cheek. hes got your dropped gun in hand, checking its ammo _lock and load sammy_ and placing it in your hands, his serious worried face telling you to hold it dammit hold it, because hes not sure how long he'll be standing and god how he wants you to be safe, but will have to settle for means of self defense.

you hold the gun with one hand, wiping the other on your jacket, trying to at least dry it so it doesnt slip so much and he grins at you because he can see you're still in the fight. That makes all the difference to him, even though hes leaning heavily against the wall and youre sure that pretty soon he'll be slumped down next to you.

_we're good, sammy, we're all good_

You manage to get your voice working enough to say _its sam_, and the look he gives you as he leans heavily against the wall, is worth the pain that feels like crushed glass in your throat, because hes your brother and you're his, and you'll both walk-limp-crawl out of this together

reveiwing will make my pants happy


	2. Focus

Focus.  
summary - and it was all going so well and now hes not moving

A/N- excessive use of goddamned. because its dean.

--

Hes not moving. Shit, you can cant even count how many times this has happened in the last month. youre scambing over debris, hitting your fucking knee on a piece of ceiling-become-floor and you feel the pain shooting up your side, making your knees waver and falter as you curl an arm protectively around your side where the broken off crossbow bolt is tugging at skin and grinding against your lowest rib _vital organs are for pansies_ but you grit your teeth and force your legs to get back underneath you and you know you cant stay standing and steady but goddamnit youre going to try.

Hes not moving. you try and stop your mind from going over the last few minutes before you both came crashing into the floor below. but you cant shut off the hunter instinct to go over it all, in search of a fucking weakness or something that says _has weakness, will die, can kill_. you had been kinda-sorta prepared,the journal and every single scrap of information on beast-that-doesnt-exist telling you that the only sure way of slowing it down and killing it is red oak, the price you paid for a bunch of _sticks_ still pisses you off. you like your plans simple, you find monster and get every goddamned one of those sticks in its heart.

Except nothing says anywhere how _goddamned_ fast this thing is, you get one bolt in the air. and youre sure nothing couldve ever prepared you for the bolt being caught midair and thrown back at you with alarming accuracy. you remember the numbing shock, you remember the goddamned thing being up in your face and before your mind can register anything but im not a fucking dartboard , and its ripping the crossbow from your hands, your finger subconciously pulling at the trigger and a bolt flying off to hit nothing in the dark  
the weapon being flung at Sammy as he is rising his own crossbow, you growl in your throat as you see it hit him across the face, his weapon going off, managing to hit the thing in its arm.

_apparently_ wounding the thing just pisses it off you decide as it throws you to the floor, hard enough to hear cracking of the floor. though you would like to point out that it _is_ a condemned building and it _is_ really fucking old.  
your memory gets abit hazy as you vaguely remember snapping off the arrow that resides in your side and jamming it into the monsters eyes, and it swings at you and you dodge because _fuckit_ this is what you doing for a living and the next thing you know the floor isnt there and everythings cracking and crumbling and _going down?_

Hes not moving. you find if you keep a steady stumbling gait, you can keep upright enough to get closer to his _laying-down-on-the-goddamned-job_ body. youre looking around the room as you place a steadying hand against the none too stable wall _shit i hate places like this_ you try and keep your eyes looking everywhere at once. it doesnt matter that every few steps you find yourself swaying dangerously towards the black that is creeping up on your vision you give your head a shake not caring that it makes the world spin, it also manages to chase off the black that seems to curl at the corner of your eye. and you keep moving towards your brother, trying to see if that goddamned thing was still up there through the hole in the ceiling. the same fucking hole you and sam just fell through. though youre not even sure what you'll do if you see it, the crossbow you were using is _somewhere_ and everytime you look at your hand you can see another bone in is completely fucking broken. .

_sammy?_ you get to him. he doesnt look dead and you tell yourself that thats the best goddamned news youve heard today even if he isnt moving and theres blood sluggishly making its way down his face and you blink in surprise when you realise hes sprawled partially on one of the crossbows.

_god-fucking-yes_ somewhere above you, you hear the thing moving and now you dont care because youre fucking armed and two steps up on your three step plan _check sammy, find weapon, kill evil mother fucke_r

--

the reviewing and the happy pants thing again.


End file.
